Chapter 17
BLAIR
Iwake up in his arms, and for the first time in weeks, maybe in my entire life, I feel completely certain.
The morning light filters softly through the heavy curtains of the main bedroom, casting warm golden streaks across the wide bed where Nash and I have spent the last few days barely leaving.
He moved me in here the night after our confrontation in the library. No discussion, no hesitation, he simply carried me upstairs, set me on the edge of his massive bed, and said, “This is yours now. You sleep where I sleep.”
I didn’t argue. I wanted it, wanted him. Wanted him out of the wall and into my reality.
His arm is heavy around my waist, his body curled protectively behind mine, warm and solid. I can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against my back and the faint scratch of stubble when he nuzzles closer in his sleep.
For a man who once hid behind a mask, he holds me as if I’m something precious now. Something he fought the world to keep.
Every doubt I carried about running from my father, about surrendering to this dark, obsessive man, has all been silenced.
Although it’s not disappeared entirely, but settled into something more manageable.
Something I can live with. Because being with him feels more real than anything my father ever tried to force on me.
Nash doesn’t see me as a bargaining chip or a trophy. He sees me. Wants me. Needs me in a way that borders on madness, and I find myself needing him right back with equal desperation and the last few days have been a blur of bliss.
We'd barely left the bedroom at first. He fucked me slow and deep in the mornings, then hard and possessive at night. He worshipped my body with his mouth until I was sobbing his name, then held me through the aftershocks like I was the only thing anchoring him to the world.
We talked too…long, raw conversations in the dark where he told me the full story of my father’s betrayal, and I told him how suffocating my life had become.
He’s cooked for me, simple meals, nothing fancy, but the sight of Nash in the kitchen, shirtless and focused, made my heart do ridiculous things.
We’ve walked the cliff-top path at dusk with our hands linked, and the icy wind whipping around us.
He wrapped me in his jacket when I shivered and kissed me until I was warm again.
This morning, though, he’s still asleep. I carefully slip out of his arms, smiling when he grumbles and reaches for me even in his dreams. I pull on one of his oversized button-down shirts, and the sleeves fall past my hands, so I roll them up as I pad downstairs to make coffee.
The house feels warmer somehow, as if it has accepted me as part of it.
I move through the kitchen with quiet contentment, grinding beans, filling the pot, letting the rich aroma fill the air.
Muted light streams through the large windows, and for the first time in years, I feel… wanted and like I belong.
I’m pouring the first cup when I hear it. It’s a very distinct yet faint crunch of gravel outside, then the soft beep of what I can only assume is some type of perimeter alarm, a low warning tone from somewhere in the walls.
My stomach drops.
I set the mug down slowly, just as the front door handle rattles. It’s followed swiftly by a loud crack of wood splintering, then multiple heavy footsteps.
Before I can even scream, the kitchen door bursts open, and three men step inside. Two are large and rough-looking, clearly the hired muscle. But the one in front makes my blood run cold.
Mr. Brooks.
The old associate my father had promised me to.
His gray hair is slicked back, and he’s wearing an expensive-looking suit which is slightly rumpled.
His eyes are cold and hungry as they lock onto me.
He looks older than I remember, more sinister, like the polite mask he wore around my father has finally slipped.
“Blair,” he says smoothly, but his tone is edged with something ugly. “There you are. Your father has been very worried.”
My heart hammers in my chest, and I back up until I hit the counter. “Get out.”
He smiles, thin and cruel. “I don’t think so. You’ve caused quite a bit of trouble running off like that. But don’t worry. I’m here to take you home. Your father and I have an agreement to honor.”
One of the men moves toward me, but I’m quicker, grabbing the coffee pot and swinging it wildly toward him. Hot liquid splashes across his chest, and he curses, but it barely slows him. The other grabs my arm, twisting it behind my back hard enough to make me cry out.
“No!” I scream, thrashing. “Nash! Nash!”
One of them clamps a hand over my mouth, so I bite down hard. The man snarls and Brooks backhands me across the face. Pain explodes across my cheek.
I hear Nash’s footsteps thundering from the bedroom, but I know it’s too late. They’re already dragging me toward the broken door.
“Quiet, whore,” Brooks snaps. “You’ll learn your place soon enough.”
Panic sweeps through my body, and I refuse to go down like this. I fight harder, kicking and screaming against the hand over my mouth. I glance desperately toward the hallway just as Nash appears at the top of the stairs, shirtless and his face twisted in pure rage.
“Blair!”
His roar shakes the house, but the men are already pulling me outside. Cold air hits my bare legs and the loose gravel jabs into my feet. They shove me into the back seat of the black SUV, and Brooks slides in beside me as the doors slam shut.
I catch one last glimpse of Nash sprinting across the driveway, his face contorted with fury and fear, before the car peels away.
My cheek throbs as tears stream down my face. My heart feels like it’s being ripped out of my chest. I chose him; I chose us, and now they’re taking me away.